


Of Away Teams and Runabouts

by otterzest



Series: All These Abandoned Buildings [6]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, DÆS9, Gen, Retelling, Worldbuilding, s1e13: Battle Lines, s1e20: In the Hands of the Prophets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterzest/pseuds/otterzest
Summary: A collection of brief stories, episode retellings, world building and other ephemera of my DÆS9 AU. Small things that aren’t worth submitting on their own, but might be fun to read.If a specific episode is cited, there will be spoiler tags.
Series: All These Abandoned Buildings [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662244
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	1. Beetle

**Author's Note:**

> Set towards the end of season one.

Quiet days in the Infirmary were a rare luxury. A lack of physical traumas, plasma burns or dislocated shoulders meant the station was functioning safely. The calm was always temporary, but when such afternoons did arrive it was always a pleasant surprise.

This shift should have been such an afternoon. Unfortunately, today’s lack of medical appointments and emergencies meant that Chief Medical Officer Julian Bashir had run out of excuses to put off his quarterly report to Starfleet. There were hours of data entry to transfer from the archaic Cardassian computer banks into updated programs. Although the station had been operating under Federation control for more than a year there were still backlogs of records that needed to be reformatted and processed. So Julian now found himself gloomily typing away, sipping at a mug of rapidly-cooling Tarkalean tea in his office while he looked over vaccination records and accounts of arbor virus outbreaks. Truly frontier medicine at its finest.

His daemon shared his boredom. Celess had folded her small frame down like an old Earth collapsible umbrella and had settled down on Julian’s desk, long fuchsia bill tucked under soft pink feathers. The only sounds in the office were the occasional sip of tea and the endless soft clatter of keys as the doctor dutifully copied information from one screen to another, and the occasional irritated tap of a foot as Julian struggled to keep focused on the dull task at hand. 

When the sleepy atmosphere was interrupted by the chime of the local comms system Celess’ head shot upwards with an almost cartoonish speed and she honked in surprised. 

Julian, seizing upon this new distraction, slammed a hand down on the speaker panel. “Go for Bashir!”

“Jabara here.” The on duty nurse sounded uncharacteristically uncertain. “Doctor, we have a walk-in patient who refuses to speak to either me or Nurse Noral. He insists on talking to you.” 

“Did he specify his concern?” Celess stood upright, extended her wings in a long curving stretch. Black-tipped feathers brushed along the side of Julian’s face and he good-naturedly pushed her away. 

“No, but he seemed very distressed. Noral is collecting his vitals now and - ” Julian heard a beep, indicating the transfer of data to her PADD “- they appear normal. Stressed, but normal. Would you like us to have him schedule an appointment and come back?”

“No, send him in,” Julian blurted out. He tried to keep the inappropriate relief out of his voice. “I can speak to him now.”

“Of course, Doctor.” Jabara hesitated for a moment then added, “you know this doesn’t excuse you from submitting that report tomorrow.”

Celess laughed, and Julian scowled. “Thank you, nurse,” he said severely, then ended the call. A screen beeped, and the patient’s chart appeared on the main console screen.

The office door chimed, and Julian swiveled around in his chair to face the door. “Yes,” he called, and the young man entered.

 _Young man_ was a bit generous, Julian thought to himself. The boy looked no older than 15, stocky, the usual Bajoran clip and chain sparkling in one ear. He was carrying a small opaque box in one hand, and his eyes looked red and watery.

The box made Julian frown. In the Federation, daemonic humanoids often kept small or vulnerable daemons in carry boxes to protect them. However, since his arrival at the station he had not seen a single Bajoran with such a device. He vaguely remembered Major Kira making a comment about not hiding one’s daemon away - showing pride in who you are. One important Bajoran cultural tradition of many, especially in light of the Occupation and how the Cardassians treated the daemons of interred Bajorans. 

The boy stood uneasily at the threshold of the office, shifting his weight onto one foot from the other as if ready to bolt. Celess remained perched on Julian’s desk as he walked around to close the space between himself and his new patient. Julian didn’t need to see the Bajoran’s daemon to sense the anxiety radiating off his short frame, and chose his most friendly _talking to patients_ voice. “Hello, I’m Doctor Bashir. Call me Julian. And she’s Celess,” he added, nodding towards the flamingo. 

The boy’s mouth was a thin line. “Evon Bas.” His grip flexed on the box. 

A name popped into Julian’s head. “Oh, is your father Evon Sel? Came in last month for chemical burns?” 

Evon nodded. “The acid bath from an intaglio print. You saved his hands.”

Julian smiled, leaned back on his desk in a stance Celess mentally called “the fun professor sit.” He chided back at her along their bond and she hopped down to the floor, where she leaned up against her human’s leg. “It was nothing, really,” he continued, “but I am glad to hear he’s doing well.” 

Evon’s gaze darted to Celess and back. Something in the small box shifted with a tiny scratching noise.

“But,”Julian continued, “ _you_ do not appear to have any acid burns." He set his hands down on the desk behind him, body language open, unthreatening. “Nurse Jabara said you wanted to talk to me, specifically,” he continued in a gentle voice.

The boy nodded, blushing red. Julian slipped off the desk and sat down in one of the chairs, gesturing to Evon to take the other seat. The Bajoran fidgeted with the box in his lap and Julian could feel Celess’ uncertainty - should she hang back and be quiet, or attempt to greet the other daemon? This wasn’t like talking to Garak or Jadzia, he _had_ a daemon that was just hidden away -

“I didn’t want to talk to another Bajoran,” Evon said, interrupting their dithering. He kept his gaze aimed at Julian’s shoes. “I don’t want them telling my parents, or the Ranjen at the temple, or anyone else.”

"Jabara takes patient confidentiality very seriously,” Julian replied, maintaining the same calm tone. “And so do I. I won’t tell anyone anything.”

Evon looked up sharply, then suddenly held the box out in front of him. “I need you to fix my daemon,” he blurted out.

Celess chirped in confusion and Julian furrowed his brow. “Fix? In what sense?”

“Make her something else.” Evon ripped the lid off the case, revealing a small brown insect. The beetle daemon hooked two little segmented legs up over the lip of the box, turned to look up at Julian.

Celess clucked, walked over to the boy’s trembling hands. She nosed at the beetle with her bill and the other daemon flinched at the contact, shuffling backwards into the corner of the box. Evon fumbled the lid back on and Celess retreated to Julian’s side, honking to herself uncertainly.

“I don’t understand,” said Julian. “You want me to change her shape?”

“That’s right. And I know you can do it. Use one of your -“ Evon mimed the motion of pressing a hypospray into his neck. “Make her a fish, or a dog, or a bird like my father’s daemon.”

Julian sighed. “Who told you I could change daemons?”

Evon shrugged. He pulled the box back into his lap but left the lid cracked open, the thumb of his right hand hooked over the lip. Julian could see a tiny brown leg touching the boy’s hand. “Everyone says you can,” he muttered. “You can do anything here.” He looked up again sharply. “Cyril said you changed their daemon with a hypospray!"

“...would this be Cyril Len?”

“I saw their daemon. He was settled as deer. Now he's not! They said you did it.” There was a faintly accusatory, defensive note in Evon’s voice, and he squared his shoulders a little more. He also slipped another finger into the box, cradling the small beetle daemon between finger and thumb.

Julian found himself mirroring the gesture, seeking out grounding contact with his own daemon. He ran his thumb through the soft pink feathers that swooped down around her jaw. “I didn’t change Cyril’s daemon,” he said. “Sometimes that happens to people. Because of side effects of treatments, or sudden life experiences.” Or being put on puberty blockers, in the case of this particular preteen Bajoran, but Julian wasn’t about to break confidentiality for another minor on the station. “It was a side effect, and not intentional.”

“So? Do it to her!” Again the box was thrust forwards. Julian put up his hands in a placating gesture. 

“Do you want to tell me why you want her changed?”

Evon looked at Julian with scorn. Even his daemon poked her head back out of the container, somehow conveying profound disbelief with an entirely immobile face. “Because,” he said slowly, “I don’t want to live my entire life with a _drought beetle_ for a daemon.”

The distaste in his voice was palpable, but the meaning was lost on Julian. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow. What’s wrong with that?” 

Evon looked incredulous. “It’s a terrible daemon!” He exclaimed. “They’re bad luck. Bajoran drought beetles emerge from the ground when it’s too hot for too long and the crops die. They destroy farms. The first known prophecy of a man with a drought beetle daemon killed his family and ruined his village!” He broke off and took a few deep breaths. “If she stays like this,” he said, voice now cracking slightly, “no one will ever trust me. Or even like me. You have to fix her.”

Julian’s fingers were now tightly entwined in the feathers on Celess’ neck. He balled his hand into a fist and as she softly honked in discomfort he stilled, then relaxed his grip. As he withdrew his fingers the bird twisted her neck around and began to preen the plumes back into place. 

Julian brought his hands back together in his lap. “Have you talked to your parents about this?” He asked, gently. “Or the Ranjens at the temple?”

Evon shook his head. “It’s a sin to not love your daemon,” he said. “It’s wrong. But I do love her,” he added hastily, “just not her shape. She doesn’t like it either.”

Julian scooted a little closer in towards Evon, sitting on the edge of his seat. He rested his elbows on his knees. “Evon,” he said. “You can’t resettle a daemon.” 

The boy flushed red again. “And I think you know this,” Julian continued softly, as the young Bajoran’s breath began to hitch. “I can’t change her for you.”

Evon’s eyes were watery again, and Julian hesitated. Normally he prided himself on his bedside manner and ability to anticipate a patient’s needs. But when it came to sensitive cultural subjects, he felt a little out of his depth. And he knew very little about this boy and what he would need from a caregiver at this time. 

Celess, watching cooly from the doctor’s side, noticed the smaller daemon trying to dig her way into the corner of the box, out of sight. Julian decided to give the boy a bit of space. 

He stood, made his way to the office replicator. Over his shoulder Julian asked, “Would it help to know that I was disappointed when Celess settled?” He nodded towards his daemon, who was still fussing with her feathers.

Evon blinked. “Why?”

Julian shrugged, turned around with two cups of tea. “She wasn’t what I was hoping for, I suppose. You could say it was a bit of a rude awakening.”

He handed Evon one of the mugs and felt Celess emanate ripples of caution and worry along their bond. _Be careful what you say._ Julian brushed her off as he sat back down and sipped his tea. 

“I wanted something more… sporty, I think. At the time I fancied myself to be quite the athlete. I was rather hoping for a cheetah - that’s a very fast Terran animal - or a peregrine falcon, or something else agile and quick. Not that Celess can’t be those things!” he continued hastily, as the flamingo grumbled. “Just in a different way.”

“But now that I’m older, I’ve come to realize that the things she stands for are more important than how she looks! And of course, how much I love her regardless.” That last statement was a kind lie, but one he made so often he almost believed it himself. She sometimes reminded him too much of other daemon’s they had known. 

Julian smiled at Evon and sipped his tea, the absolute picture of a competent adult and stable settled daemon. 

The boy was now holding the tea in one hand and his daemon’s protective case in the other. He tilted his head. “I thought she was a stork. I’ve seen plenty of stork daemons. They mean you’re wise and clever.”

Celess actually hooted with laughter. Julian made a big show of scowling at her and shoving her away from his side. “She -“ he said, glaring at his traitorous daemon “- is a flamingo. They’re a species of Terran bird from a very hot climate. They live in flocks of thousands and can drink water that is near boiling hot without harm, and they live in chemical lakes hardly any other animals could tolerate. No matter how she looks -“ another mock-glare “- she is very tough, and so am I. That’s not to say that I sometimes wish she was some other form. But she is a part of me, and a reflection of who I am. And it’s hard to argue with that.”

Celess, standing behind Julian’s chair, stepped forward. Evon shied backwards, but his daemon crawled forwards out of the box. 

“My name is Celess,” she said to the beetle daemon. “What’s your name?”

The drought beetle waved an antenna nervously. “I don’t have one. We haven’t been Named yet.”

“Bajoran daemons don’t have names until they settle,” Evon said in a flat voice. He took in a deep breath then continued, “our ceremony is in three days. My father is painting our settling scroll right now. That makes the daemon name official,” he added, as Julian looked confused, “in the eyes of the Prophets. It has our names, says her form, and has a fable or story about the form the daemon has taken.” His voice took on a scornful tone. “In three days I will stand in the temple in front of everyone I know, and a Ranjen will tell me how awful drought beetles are, and how they caused famine years ago, and how the Cardassians used them to destroy towns, and how awful I am for having a daemon like that.”

“And after this,” Celess prompted, “you will have your daemon name?”

Evon snorted, cautiously drank his tea. “My mother wants to name my daemon after my grandfather’s daemon. She was a hawk.” He smiled ruefully. “From a hawk to a beetle. How is _that_ supposed to honor his memory?”

Julian was quiet for a moment, giving Evon a chance to catch his breath. Celess stepped backwards again, leaning up against Julian’s shoulder. Then, finally, the doctor asked, “what is so much better about a hawk daemon?”

The Bajoran snorted. “You’re kidding, right?” When Julian didn’t respond, he continued, “a hawk is a strong animal. It hunts for its prey in the air. A lot of famous Prophets had hawk or eagle or other bird daemons. My grandfather’s settling scroll is extra long because his parents put two fables on it, because both were about eagles.”

“What about the person, though? The Bajoran with the hawk daemon?” Julian pressed. 

Evon looked incredulous. “I don’t know, normal? Like most people. My father said his grandfather was pretty strict. Dad is pretty strict too, actually.”

Celess rolled her shoulders under Julian’s hand and he realized that his grip had made its way to her feathers again, and was pulling hard once more. He forced himself to relax and withdrew his hand, and little pieces of down stuck to his fingers before melting away into Dust. Evon’s gaze darted from the daemon to Julian’s hands and his face, but did not comment. 

Julian continued, “do you _want_ to be like your father? Like your grandfather?”

Evon shrugged. “I guess I do? I don’t really like painting or scribe’s work. Or carpentry, which is what grandfather did.” 

Then, from the depths of the little box, the unnamed daemon spoke. “We do not want to be like them.” She crawled out of the container, clung to Evon’s wrist. “They were both cruel when Bas was small.” 

Julian nodded. “Okay. Now, tell me about drought beetles.”

Evon made a face of distaste, and his daemon flinched. Out of her box Julian could get a better look at her - her carapace was mostly a light brown, but with an oil-slick iridescent sheen. Her body was probably no more than three inches long, but the foreclaws gently holding Evon’s thumb looked strong.

Julian shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know much about Bajoran flora or fauna, unfortunately,” he said. “Humor me.”

Evon sighed again. “They’re just gross bugs, okay?” Julian’s universal translator glitched over the phrase _gross bugs,_ struggling to interpret the already evolving post-occupation dialect that was so popular with young people on the station. 

“They live in the ground in huge nests. When it rains they eat fungus or something, but when it’s too dry they crawl out of the dirt and eat anything they can find. They’re pests.”

Julian nodded. “I don’t think that Bajorans interpret their daemons too differently than Humans. Of course not that all humans abide by one culture - I know Bajorans don’t either - but from what I’ve gathered, you also place a lot of meaning in the form your daemon takes.” He took another sip of his tea and Evon nodded.

“And a lot of superstition as well, just like us.” 

Evon opened his mouth to protest, but Julian pushed forwards. “From what you’ve told me, there are a few key traits that drought beetles have.” He ticked off each with the fingers of his left hand. “They are adaptable - finding new ways of life in tough conditions. They are social, and live in large colonies. And they are industrious, always seeking out better opportunities.” He sat back in his chair. “Those all sound like good things to me. I certainly want my friends to be hard-working and adaptable.”

Evon gazed down at his mug of tea. “But who cares about what _I’m_ like?” he said. “That's not what people see. They see _her,_ and she’s a pest.”

“I care about what you’re like,” Julian said mildly. He leaned across Celess’ small frame to set his tea on his desk. “I know your parents care what you’re like, so do your teachers, the Ranjens, almost everyone else. It may be hard to believe now,” he continued as the boy huffed a sardonic laugh, “but appearances are _not_ everything.”

“Unfortunately, cruel people will always be cruel.” Julian twisted his hands in his lap. “Even if your daemon was settled as the most beautiful creature possible, if someone wanted to hurt you they would find a way. Any comments you receive about drought beetles, just remember - it’s not about you.”

The beetle daemon dug her claws into Evon’s sleeve, but the boy looked a little less upset. Julian gave him his most encouraging smile, and Celess gently ribbed him for it.

“I mean, look at Celess. She is certainly a bit ridiculous, right?” 

Evon laughed a little, and Julian felt his shoulders slump a little with relief. He had found a foothold in this cross-cultural conversation. “I suppose she is a bit… flamboyant,” the boy admitted. 

“A bit? I don’t think you’d find anything else _half_ as bright on this station!”

The Bajoran took another sip of his drink. “But you still said you were disappointed with her?”

Julian had hoped to breeze past the topic of his own settling. “A little bit,” he admitted, hoping another small lie would placate the teenager. 

“But you didn’t have a Naming?” Julian shook his head and Evon pushed ahead, curious. “What do humans do to celebrate their daemons? Did you have a ceremony? Scrolls?”

“We - I didn’t do anything.” Celess stepped back in closer to Julian, but restrained herself from pressing into his arms or up against his side, mostly hiding her discomfort from the conversation. 

“There was a lot going on for my family at the time, so there wasn’t really a chance to celebrate. But many humans do a lot of different things!” He added hastily. “And Starfleet cultures, well - there’s so much mixing of cultures and traditions, there are _lots_ of different ways to celebrate a young person’s daemon!” 

Julian paused. “Evon - do you _want_ a ceremony? It’s okay if you don’t,” he added, as the boy seemed struck by the question. 

The beetle daemon spoke up first. “We do want one,” she said. Her voice was stronger and louder than Julian expected from such a small creature. “I just don’t want Bas to be humiliated in front of everyone else.” 

“Perfectly understandable. But do you really think your parents would allow that to happen?”

Evon shrugged listlessly. “I guess not.” 

“I really think you should go, and keep an open mind. And I know that’s easy to for me to say!” he added as Evon scowled. “Believe me I know. Platitudes accomplish nothing. But I don’t think that your parents and the Ranjen would hurt you in this way.” _I hope they don’t hurt you in this way._

Evon sighed, but his breath was now slow and even. “Yeah,” he said. “I -” 

He glanced down at his unnamed daemon, who was perched on his wrist. “I’m not sure what I expected from you, doctor,” he continued. His voice sounded tired. “But thank you anyways.”

“There is nothing I can do to change how she looks,” Julian replied. “That’s not how life works, or how bodies work. And believe me, I’ve heard the rumors - you can not force your daemon to resettle through trauma or self harm. And if I catch you trying anything like that -“ he included sharply “- I will have to let your parents know.”

Evon nodded. “I know.”

“You said your ceremony is in three days?”

“Yes.”

“Is it open to non-Bajorans? I would like to attend.”

Evon raised his brows. “Uh, it’s open to everyone. Yes, if you want to come you are welcome.”

Julian stood, began typing into a pad. “Excellent. What time? I need to make sure I'm available.”

The young Bajoran told him, and Julian confirmed that he was indeed free. Evon stood to go, but as he moved towards the door the drought beetle daemon zipped off his arm and back into the box, which Evon held tight to his chest. 

As the teenager raised his hand to the door panel, Julian called out one more time. “Evon?”

He turned, earring swaying with the movement. Standing in the tall frame of the Cardassian-constructed doorway he looked even smaller and younger than ever. “Yes?”

“It was good to meet you.” This time Julian’s smile felt genuine. “I don’t know if I helped you at all, but you are a remarkable young man.” 

“Oh. Thanks. You too.” And with the touch of a button, Julian’s sole afternoon patient left his office. For a moment he sat behind his desk, lost in thought, then called the nurses’ desk for a second time. 

Nurse Noral answered. “Yes, Doctor?”

“I was wondering - could you tell me how long a traditional Bajoran settling ceremony is? In terms of hours.”

“Oh!” Jabara sounded surprised. “Well, I think the average is about two hours or so? Not including the reception.”

Celess sighed, shook the tension out of her feathers. “Better cancel that darts game with Miles.”

Julian smiled back at his daemon. “Acknowledged. Thank you..”

He closed the coms channel and, sipping at his now lukewarm tea, returned to his report. 

🦗🦗🦗

Julian didn’t see Kira until after the ceremony. The twenty - odd guests and Evon’s family had moved from the main temple to a smaller reception room and a steady trickle of visitors, Bajoran and otherwise, were stopping by to congratulate the teenager and his now named daemon. 

He had been tentatively sipping at a small glass of some sort of peppery Bajoran liquor when he saw the Major talking to another young woman, this one with a brilliant emerald snake daemon draped around her shoulders. Julian was internally debating if he should be polite and greet her or leave Kira alone when her small pika daemon locked eyes with Celess. 

Julian’s heart sank a little as he saw Kira’s posture stiffen and her smile shrank. She left her friend with a warm pat on the shoulder, and by the time she joined Julian on the other side of the room she had completely transformed from Bajoran Community Member Kira to Starfleet Liaison Major Kira.

“Doctor,” she greeted him cooly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Major.” Julian politely nodded. The pika warily eyed him and Celess in turn, tiny nose twitching. 

“You know the Evon family?”

Kira shrugged, crossing her arms. “A little. Evon Sel was brought to the station shortly before the occupation ended. His family was able to follow him about a year later. She squinted at Julian. “How do you know them?”

“The young man is a patient, and I was invited.”

Kira snorted. “Everyone on this station is your patient, and this is the first Bajoran cultural event I’ve seen you attend.”

“All right,” Julian conceded. “I may have invited myself.” Glancing up at the young adult on the other side of the room he continued, “Evon Bas asked to see me in the infirmary a few days ago, with some concern about his daemon. I thought attending the naming ceremony would be a kind gesture.”

“...it was thoughtful.” Kira gave Julian an appraising look, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Did he ask you to make his daemon a different shape?”

Julian frowned. “How did you guess?” 

“Just a hunch. It’s not a very lucky daemon to have.”

Julian rubbed an eye with the heel of the hand not holding his drink. “Evon essentially demanded I change her,” he sighed. “He was quite upset when he arrived, and I’m not sure he completely believed me when I told him it was impossible. So I thought attending the ceremony would be a good way to show support.”

Kira nodded. Her pika daemon, held to her shoulder with one hand, discreetly looked back over again at the young man and his daemon. “He is going to have a tough time,” she conceded. “While religion bound us together during the occupation, it also kept a lot of old prejudices alive. The Evon family is from the one of the Valo System settlements - they tend to be more traditional.”

Julian followed the daemon’s gaze. Evon and his newly-named Naima were talking with another young Bajoran. The low warm lighting in the temple refracted off his earring on the boy’s left, and off the daemon’s carapace on the right, framing his face in iridescence. Julian had been pleased to see that, from the beginning of the ceremony, the daemon had not been in a Federation-style carrier, but out and interacting with her environment. 

“He doesn’t seem too upset right now,” Kira continued. She raised her eyebrows at Julian. “What did you say to him?”

Julian looked down at his glass, then back up at Kira. “I don’t want to violate his privacy,” he admitted, “but I could use some insight from a Bajoran.” As Kira frowned he continued, “He seemed to have a lot of shame about his daemon’s form. I just told him what I would’ve told a human in the same predicament: there’s nothing you can do to change that, and that he shouldn’t let other people’s judgement make him feel bad about who he is. But I’ve been worried that my comments were bad advice. Should I have said something different?”

“I’m no counselor,” Kira shrugged. “I think it was fine. Clearly what he needed to hear.”

“He was afraid to ask another Bajoran, in case they would tell the Ranjen or his family.” 

“I understand why.” Kira actually looked a little uncomfortable, and the pika swiped at his nose as if he was batting away an astringent smell. 

“I know I’ve asked Commander Sisko about getting a Bajoran counselor up here,” Julian added, “and I don’t want to push too much, but we truly need one. There’s only so much I can do without the cultural background, and you have enough responsibilities as it is.”

Kira nodded, fingers absently tracing circles through her daemon’s fur, but didn’t reply. Julian took another sip of his drink to fill the pause, then asked, “How well do you know Evon?”

“Not well. Evon Las is an extremely gifted artisan, but I’ve always thought he seemed overly strict with his son.” She took a sip of her own drink. “But he doesn’t seem ashamed or angry now. And the scroll he wrote was an elegant interpretation of drought beetle prophecy.”

There was a severe looking Bajoran man hovering behind Evon, a predatory bird daemon perched on one shoulder. Julian had a brief flashback to her defending Sal when he came in for those burns: talons sunk into the fabric of his tunic, large wings smacking away any attempts to remove her, screeching and hissing and snapping at any medical staff that ventured near. She had given Julian a few impressive bruises before calming and acquiescing to treatment. 

Now Julian was again seeing that wild defiance and intimidating posture, but in the body of the man in addition to the bird. Evon Las gazed around the room, as if daring anyone to come forward and comment on his son. He caught Julian’s eye and gave the doctor a respectful nod of acknowledgement. Julian raised his glass in return. 

“I attend every Naming I can,” Kira said. She looked a little surprised at her own honesty. “The only ones I’ve missed in the past two years were due to away missions. And even then I tried to make sure I could come regardless.”

“How many have you seen?”

“Only about a dozen or so. Not a lot of young people here, but I suspect that will change in the coming years.”

“Are they only for young people?” Julian thought back to what he knew about the significance of names to Bajorans, and more questions lined themselves up. “Do Bajoran daemons accumulate multiple names throughout their lives? Some human cultures do that.” 

Whatever societal charity had led Kira to talk to Julian was rapidly evaporating in the face of his enthusiastic questioning. “Names can change, but our daemons only have one at once,” she said,her tone cooling. “Sometimes people change their daemons name to reflect a significant life choice, to differentiate between the old and the new. On Bajor there’s been several post-occupation Naming ceremonies, as people try to turn over a new leaf and rebuild their lives.” 

“Have you thought about it?” Julian was speaking before he realized what a sensitive question this probably was, and immediately regretted it. Celess dipped her head down in a wince, and Kira’s pika mirrored his human’s scowl. 

“No.” Her tone was withering, and Julian cringed. “I never had a first Naming ceremony to begin with.” She glared at him and despite their height difference Julian felt extremely small. “ And even if I had, I would not change his name. I’ll never forget what the Cardassians did.” 

Her gaze drifted over Julian’s shoulder, softened as it caught on someone he couldn’t see. “If you’ll excuse me, Doctor,” she continued coldly, “it appears that Evon’s mother is setting out more tea. I’ll go help her.”

Julian, not trusting himself to be tactful, nodded mutely and turned to watch Kira leave. As she gently took a heavy teapot from another woman’s hands and began to pour it into mugs she seemed to shed her anger like clothing, becoming light and friendly and kind again. Julian could hear her laughter, the faint squeak of the pika daemon chattering with the woman’s lizard. 

Celess rustled her feathers. “Well. _That_ wasn’t a very classy thing to say, Doctor Bashir.”

“I didn’t see you stopping me!” Julian swallowed the last of his drink, suppressed a sneeze as it burned his sinuses. 

His daemon was silent for a moment as he blinked watery eyes rapidly for a moment. He could feel her uncertainty and concern at the edge of their bond.

“Do you think…” she began, and he sent a strong warning through their connection. _Don’t -_

“If humans had Namings when they settled,” Celess murmured, out loud but so quietly that someone outside of their bond probably would not have heard her, “do you think I would have a name at all today?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Julian said, flatly, louder than he intended. “It doesn’t matter.”

“We could have me re-na --”

“I _don’t care_ ” Julian emphasized, even more loudly, and a nearby Bajoran at the drinks table sent him a curious look. He bit back another angry comment, forced himself to calm. “At this point I think we are fine as we are,” he said, more quietly. 

“I care,” Celess insisted. She leaned up against his side. _I want you to be comfortable,_ she thought to him. _I want us to be fine._

“We are.” But Julian still reached down to stroke the soft feathers along the edge of his daemon’s bill. “Now I’m just worried that I offended Major Kira. We’ll hear about it in Ops tomorrow.”

“Probably.”

Julian glanced back at Evon and Naima. The boy seemed lighter, calmer, unburdened by the fear and anxiety that had weighed him down in Julian’s office a few days prior. He caught Julian’s eye and smiled, and the doctor felt an unexpected rush of pride. Evon would have a long road to walk towards personal self-acceptance and community tolerance, but he seemed to be on a solid start. 

He downed the last spicy sip of his drink as he followed Celess into the middle of the room, to congratulate the young man and greet his daemon, now named and blessed in the eyes of the Prophets.


	2. Blenny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Sisko meets Winn for the first time. Spoilers for DS9 "Battle Lines" (s1e13), and "In the Hands of the Prophets" (s1e20).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always found the Bajoran temple sets to be pretty bland (lol it is Star Trek), so I wanted to write in something more like the gardens we see on Bajor. I also found the idea of people bringing in plants and trying to recreate home on a prison starbase interesting. As I’m sure it is painfully obvious, I am scrawling these out as I watch the show, so doubtless there are lore errors. Thank you for bearing with me!

The Bajoran temple was a stark contrast from the dry sterile air of Deep Space Nine. Instead of crisp, ozonated nitrogen and oxygen Ben found himself instead breathing in warm humid air that seemed to settle into his lungs like a liquid, drifting around him like sediment stirred up from the bottom of an ancient ocean. The ambient heat was much warmer than the Starfleet-preferred 19 degrees Celsius as well. 

The small entryway space added to the further stifling feeling. With low light emanating from small flames perched on low pillars, dark soft shadows hugged the lights and crawled along the creases of Ben’s uniform. They looked as viscous as the air around them, and Ben resisted the temptation to swipe at one to see if it was stirred up into the air. 

Closer to the ground, and with a badger’s nose, Delphi smelled warm earthy vegetation and decomposition. The smells of the world furiously turning energy over and over, consuming and digesting and reinventing itself in an endless tropical loop of growth and decay. 

Ben wondered if this dark humid place was a holosuite program, or if faithful Bajorans had actually brought in soil and plants. Delphi sent him an emotional half-shrug; she could not tell herself. The two turned a corner and stepped from warm spongy earth to a worn stone path. 

The light colored stone and curving oblong architecture in the temple annex immediately reminded Ben of the sanctuary where he first met Kai Opaka. There were similar circular fountains and pools, many on cylindrical pillars surrounding more flames. The same ovoid motif that Ben knew from Kira’s com badge repeated in here as well, like ripples expanding outwards from a splash in a still pond

Ben has not spent much time at the station temple. He had been curious to explore it, and when the Federation arrived at Deep Space Nine he had visited a handful of times. The first trip had been short but uneventful, and then the next day he and Dax flew through the wormhole for the first time. 

Every time Ben had entered the temple since, he felt the eyes of Bajoran civilians on him. He had seen expressions of awe, of reverence and, more than once, deep fear and mistrust. He had felt too uncomfortable to return without reason. 

Now he had reason. Ranjen Winn stood in the center of the main temple space, close to a large stone pedestal with a flame in its center. Incense burned around the fire, and the edge of the altar was scored with a deep trough where water trickled down to wet worn stone. 

Delphi scanned back and forth across the humid room, seeking the Ranjen’s daemon in the dusty shadows of the chamber. No bird, no deer, no - 

“I can't tell you how much I've looked forward to this moment.” 

As Winn raised her head and turned towards Ben, she reached for a small clay shape on top of the altar. The bowl was dipped into the water and then held with both hands. She smiled, vacantly. “I’m honored to meet the Emissary to the Prophets.”

Ben smiled in return. “If you had let me know you were coming,” he replied, “I would have greeted you sooner.”

“Oh, I did not wish to bother you with my insignificant visit!” Winn stepped forwards, the bowl still held with both hands. 

Delphi snorted in irritation. This woman was obviously whole, her daemon was present somewhere, but she couldn’t say where. 

“I’d hardly call it insignificant.” 

“Thank you, Emissary,” Winn beamed.

Benjamin took in a breath then said, “I wish you wouldn't call me that. I'm Commander Sisko - or Benjamin, if you like.” He gestured down at the badger, now sitting up on her haunches by his ankle. “This is my daemon, Delphi.” 

Delphi nodded politely at Winn, then -

The dish in Winn’s hands wobbled slightly, then a wave of water slopped over the rim. Through Ben’s eyes Delphi saw a liquid flash of inky black and pale yellow. 

Ranjen Winn’s small fish daemon fluttered in his bowl. Incomprehensibly, Ben could hear the daemon’s voice as clearly as that of any other terrestrial daemon. 

The little fish peered down at the badger. “My name is Winn Janus,” he said, in a soft voice. “May the prophets protect the pagh that ties you to this mortal body.”

“Oh.” Delphi flicked a stubby ear in surprise. “Well it’s nice to meet you, I’m Delphi.”

“What a beautiful name,” Janus replied. As he turned around and slipped back underneath the water’s surface Ranjen Winn continued speaking. “A truly beautiful name! It does not take the wisdom of the Prophets to foresee many young Bajoran daemons named in your honor, Emissary.” 

A small tight smile. “Please, call me Ben.”  
“But you are the Emissary.” Ranjen Winn let a frown crease her face. “Don’t you know the cherished place you have earned in the Bajoran spiritual life?”

Ben groped for an appropriate response. Finally he admitted, “I’m not sure I’m comfortable in that role.”

Winn tsked. “The course the Prophets chooses for us may not always be comfortable.” She tilted the bowl in her hands, letting all the water run to one side, leaving the other half dry. “Janus is not always comfortable - the challenges of aquatic pagh. But we must follow the path at our feet.” She set the bowl on the altar behind her, turned back around to Ben. She gestured at his ear. “May I?”

Ben acquiesced. Her fingers were cold from the water. Winn sighed. “Still the disbeliever.” 

She released his ear. “I once asked Kai Opaka why a disbeliever was destined to seek the Prophets, and she told me one should never look into the eyes of one's own gods. I disagreed.”

On the altar the bowl rattled slightly, and a small wave of water slopped over one side. “I told her I would do anything to look into their eyes. She suggested that I sit in darkness for a day and quite properly so. She cannot be replaced, and I miss her deeply.”

At Ben’s side Delphi growled slightly, and he knew that she shared the memories that flashed before his eyes at Opaka’s name. The last time they had seen her;

_her calm, serene smile as the runabout seized and shuddered around them, gharial daemon stoic and regal seconds before the crash,_

_her body, pulled from the wreckage, with Mother-of-Thousands crawling over and resting her translucent head on the Kai’s chest, the fading form exploding into swirls of light, mingling with smoke rising from the wreckage,_

_Kira screaming and sobbing, flinging herself over the body and covering her torn and charred uniform with soft powdery golden dust; her frantic funeral rites muttered between heaving gasps as her daemon’s fur matted wet with tears,_

_Opaka’s impossible resurrection, daemonless, half of a whole but acting like a normal Bajoran,_

_her eerie solo figure standing alongside a group of likewise soulless soldiers, all doomed to shamble across this blighted hunk of rock for eternity; forever suspended in artificial life, without even the promise of rejoining their daemons in death,_

_and the horrible, creeping certainty that stole over Ben as he realized Kai Opaka had known all along, and she had knowingly asked Ben to shepherd her to her final resting place._

Coming back to himself, realizing several seconds had gone by as memories flashed by at Warp Nine, Ben cleared his throat of temple incense and remembered Dust. “It's important to me that we resolve your problems with the school.”

Winn’s expression was pious and regretful, but her daemon once again rocked up against the side of his bowl, sending water spraying into the air. “The prophets have spoken to me through the orbs, Emissary.”

She turned, picked up Janus’ bowl, and refilled it from the altar. Facing Ben and Delphi once more, she held her daemon at waist height, so that the commander could see his lithe form swirling back and forth in an intricate dance. Blue and yellow flickered like the lights surrounding the wormhole, winking in and out in the inky water. 

Winn’s gaze rose from the dish, to sweep over Delphi as she spoke. “I understand my duty to defend the Bajoran faith.”

The blenny swirled in the vessel, then peered over the lip to stare at Ben and his daemon. Janus gaped at the pair, flashing a disproportionately large pair of sharpened teeth before disappearing into the darkness once more. 

“The teacher has dishonoured the Celestial Temple,” Winn said firmly, as seawater dripped off her hands to the temple floor. 

She looked at Ben directly, and the frigid air of the Nol-Ennis prison was not half as cold as Winn’s eyes. 

“If she does not recant, I cannot be responsible for the consequences.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Winn’s daemon is a false cleanerfish, a tropical blenny that makes a living by mimicking the very similar looking bluestreak cleaner wrasse. False cleanerfish hang around reef cleaning stations, often doing the same dancing displays as the wrasse it copies. When a larger fish stops by to be rid of parasites, the false cleanerfish not only eats the itchy invertebrates but also bites out chunks of fish flesh. These small, unassuming fish blend in with their more benevolent colleagues to lure in unsuspecting victims, which seems fitting for someone like Kai Winn.

**Author's Note:**

> Evon Bas' daemon is a fictional beetle, but I was vaguely imagining a [mole cricket](https://www.gardeningknowhow.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/mole-cricket1.jpg).
> 
> Nurse Jabara's daemon is a [viscacha](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/65/34/82/6534821d98a0ceade19aa8200aa7384c.jpg), a charming if bizarre relative of the chinchilla. 
> 
> Julian Bashir's daemon remains a [lesser flamingo](https://kuwaitbirds.org/sites/default/files/styles/large960/public/bird-photos/mp/lesser-flamingo-among-greater-flamingos-mp.jpg?itok=Fmh6PWxj). 
> 
> If you can think of a specific scene or episode of DS9 that you'd like redone with daemons self-indulgently shoved in, leave a comment and I'll try my best to give you something tolerable! This is fun, thanks for reading!


End file.
